Christmas Without You
by Denacitarii
Summary: Ron Weasley had always thought that his failures in the past would permanently eclipse whatever he tried to do in the future, but now his philosophy is being compromised.  RW/HG
1. Chapter 1

**So this is my very first story and I'm TREMENDOUSLY excited. There will be three chapters, but if you happen to stumble accross this one first and enjoy it, I appreciate feedback. Very much. Even the flaming kind.**

**DISCLAIMER: No copyright infrigment intended. All recognizable characters belong to JKR.**

**Chapter 1**

**Christmas Day, 1996**

It was yet another delightful, event-filled Christmas morning at the Burrow. The rickety old house was dusted with a thin sheet of white, sparkling snow, and the inhabitants huddled inside it were sitting comfortably around a roaring fire in the sitting room, enjoying a nice, warm cup of tea. It was, in fact, such a beautiful morning, that two particular individuals had momentarily stopped their exasperating bickering, which, as Harry Potter recounted, had been going on for four months straight. It was such a beautiful morning that it seemed impossible for anyone to be upset. The fire was flooding everyone with warmth, and laughter was filling the room with its irrepressible glow of happiness. The people in the room were exchanging gifts and friendly Christmas greetings as if nothing could dampen their spirits.

"That's bloody well more like it," Harry thought to himself as he saw Ron smile widely at Hermione, who returned the favor. He had never in his life seen two teenagers who quarreled more than they did, and it was always over the silliest things. For example, Ron hadn't tried hard enough on his potions paper, or Hermione hadn't been paying attention while watching Ron's last Quidditch match. At present, however temporary it may be, (Harry got the feeling that this armistice would last only as long as the holiday), they were at least on speaking terms.

These two had been his best mates since his first year at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and despite Ron and Hermione's relentless arguing, they had always been the "trio". However, this year in particular had been extremely difficult for all three of them. Harry found himself too busy to spend much time with either of them, Ron was going out with Lavender Brown, which for some reason infuriated Hermione, and Hermione was doing what she had always done best: smothering herself in her school books.

"Hey, Harry! This one's for you!" Ron's brother Fred tossed a gigantic, red, box over Hermione's head and into Harry's arms.

"Blimey, what's in this thing?" Harry exclaimed as he nearly fell over with the sudden impact of 60 pounds on his chest.

"Just open it, git!" Fred's twin George pitched in. Harry fumbled with the box, finally hauling it open and pulling another, smaller box out of it with the title "Weasley's Wizard Wheezes" stamped on it.

"Brilliant!" Harry chuckled, not daring to open the box in front of everyone as he was quite sure he was about to be pranked. "You know were not allowed to bring this stuff to school, right?"

"Since when have you followed the rules, Potter?" George questioned, smirking.

"Besides," Fred pitched in, "We wouldn't have a business if it hadn't been for your generous contributions. Well, what are you waiting for, an apocalypse? Open it!"

Before Harry was forced to reveal the box's contents, however, he was caught off guard as Mrs. Weasley bumped into him, dropping a present in his lap and patting him on the head.

"Ron, Hermione!" She strode over to the two, a couple of lumpy packages in her arms.

"I knew it," Ron mumbled.

"Here you are!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed as she deposited the bundles into Ron and Hermione's arms. "Well, how do you like them?" she asked as Ron unwrapped yet another itchy, maroon, home-knitted sweater, and Hermione a new red and gold scarf with a matching hat.

"Oh Mrs. Weasley, they're _lovely_!" Hermione said as she embraced Ron's mother. Ron simply stared at his own gift and mumbled, "Yeah, thanks mum." It appeared as though she hadn't even heard him.

"Yes, Hermione, I knew they would look beautiful on you! And school spirit as well!" She wrapped the scarf around Hermione's neck and placed the hat on her bushy, brown curls.

"What do you think, Ron?" She asked her son, turning again to his present.

"She, er… she looks great." He looked Hermione in the eye and tried to ignore the fact that his ears were turning beet red. Hermione muffled a giggle.

"She meant about your sweater, Ron."

"Oh, right. It's brilliant, mum." Never mind his ears. Now his entire face matched the uncomfortable woolen sweater he had just unpacked. He wasn't denying what he said, however. Hermione did look great. She looked… gorgeous. Ron felt like hitting himself. He was the one that got himself into this mess, and he should be able to climb up out of it. He should be able to face up to Hermione and tell her that he had never liked Lavender, and that he had just been using the blonde to make her jealous. He should be able to talk things out with Hermione, to explain how desperately annoying Lavender was being and to whine about how he could never get away from her cute little pet names or syrupy love poetry she wrote to him during classes. Whenever he saw her face in the hallway, he wanted to run away. Only he couldn't; she would always chase him and eventually attempt to snog his head off.

He was hopeless. There was no way that he could ever tell Hermione about his feelings for her. It was as if there was a huge roadblock between them, constructed of his pride and selfishness and shallow lies, and it was preventing the two of them from ever having a decent conversation. Nevertheless, he had tried to remedy his situation. He had hoped that buying her an elaborate Christmas present might make her forget about the animosity between them long enough to realize that she might actually have feelings for him as well. He had pooled his money with what Fred and George had reluctantly surrendered to him only if he begged, and had purchased an extravagant, boxed collection of titles from her favorite authors. It contained four books she had checked out at least 20 times in the last 6 years and had always wished to own for herself.

"So… Hermione, I er… I got you a Christmas present," he spoke into her ear once as soon as he was sure his mother was gone.

"Oh? Well I got you something too I suppose. It's not much, it's just – "

"Oi! Ronnykins!" A shout echoed across the room, interrupting her and making Ron wish that he had paid more attention when they were learning how to apparate. "We got a little something here from your _girlfriend_!" Fred was standing on a chair, making sure everyone in the room could see him properly, and was clutching a parcel that had just been delivered by owl. Ron's face turned scarlet for the second time in five minutes.

"_She wouldn't_…" He groaned, but Fred was already tearing the paper apart.

"Hey, NO! That's mine! Fred!" Before he could cross the room, his brothers had burst into fits of hysterical laughter, holding something large and red in their hands.

"Your sweetheart, eh?" George hooted, clutching his stomach. Ron snatched the object from them before they could do any more damage. It was a large, red, heart-shaped necklace, and just as George had announced, on the front it read "_My sweetheart._" This was the last straw. He felt his neck burning. He glanced desperately at Hermione, who was already granting him a scowl assuring him that he had ruined Christmas. Leave it to Lavender to spoil everything, even when she wasn't there.

"Um, Hermione," he started, walking slowly back over to her and trying to hide the large heart behind his back. "It's sort of a joke, you see, she was just-"

"It's not really helping anyone if you lie your way out of this, Ron. You've already shoved your foot in your mouth."

"What? I didn't even _do_ anything! It's Lavender, she's the one who –"he stuttered for a second, unsure of how to proceed, but then picked it up right where he had always wanted to. "You're just jealous! You don't know what you're talking about!" Hermione's face transformed from a look of mild amusement to one of absolute horror.

"JEALOUS? Is that what I am! Or have I always been jealous of your girlfriend all along?"

"She's not my girlfr-"

"And don't you _dare_ tell me I don't understand what's going on! I understand completely! You're going out with her because you knew it would make me angry, and she was the only stupid blonde you could find who is both easy to manipulate and interest-grabbing. Because that's really all you want, isn't it? Attention! You want to be in the spotlight of everything, and when you're not, you want to cry in your room and feel sorry for yourself. And you know what?" She rummaged through her handbag and withdrew a little metal box. "You can just _have_ your Christmas present."

Ron fingered it for a moment, feeling a bit let down.

"Er, what is it?"

"Muggle breath mints. They make your breath smell better. You know, for when you're snogging Lavender and all that…"

If she weren't a girl, he would have hit her.

"That's not the present you got for me."

"Well they're useful, and it's not like I go around snogging people's heads off in my spare time."

This was getting ridiculous. He couldn't so much as inhale without setting this girl over the edge.

"Why do you always have to be such a-"

"Such a what, Ron? Because I don't think you're in any position to be calling names at the moment."

"I wasn't going to call you anything!"

"Oh, really? Because it sure sounded like you – "

"RON!" Mrs. Weasley was back, and Ron wasn't sure how much of their argument she had caught.

"What do you think you're doing, picking an argument with Hermione on Christmas Day?"

"But I wasn't – "

"Just because _you're_ in a bad mood doesn't mean you have to devote your full attention to making everyone else miserable!"

"Mum, I'm not even… I only –"

"DON'T argue with me, young man!" she screeched. "UPSTAIRS! NOW!"

Ron jumped when he heard his mother yell. She usually reserved most of her wrath for the twins, and he wasn't used to her blowing up, full steam, in his face. This was indeed an interesting morning.

"Fine," He muttered, throwing Hermione a pathetic look of defeat. She returned it with a heartless, stuck up sneer that was almost Malfoy-worthy. Ron rolled his eyes, not believing his luck today. He strode out of the sitting room, about to walk up the rickety stairs to his attic bedroom when Fred and George blocked his passage, both of them wearing new, matching woolen sweaters and wide, smirking grins.

"Not so fast Ronnykins," George taunted, enjoying this little state of affairs thoroughly.

"Honestly! Why the long face?" Fred piped in.

"Did your girlfriend ditch you?"

"Hold it - which one? Hermione or Lavender?"

"Oh forget about it. We happen to have a product that will fix all of your heartache problems, and for a small price at that…"

"Leave me ALONE!" Ron bellowed, absolutely fed up with his brothers' antics. This was the last thing he needed; the embellishing to top off an absolutely dreadful morning. He pushed past the twins and tramped up the stairs, bolting the door shut to his old, musty room. Now everyone thought he was in love with Lavender, even Hermione. And that was the _last_ thing he was hoping to achieve in the midst of all this nonsense.

A sharp knock rapped on the door and Ron abruptly shot up, looking at the clock and quickly deciphering that he had been asleep for nearly two hours. He got up, going at his own pace, assuming that Hermione had finally come up to apologize. It was about time, too. He ran his hand through his shaggy, ginger hair, trying to at least make himself presentable to her, and unbolted his door.

"Oh. It's you," He groaned, opening the door to find Harry standing there in a green, home-knitted Weasley sweater.

"Merry Christmas to you too," Harry grinned, stepping into Ron's room and making himself comfortable. "Well, I just came up to check if you were alright. Hermione's upset and isn't speaking to anyone, and I'm assuming it might have something to do with the argument you two had earlier this morning…"

"Were fine. It was just my mum, she was overreacting."

"Then why have you been cooped up here all day?"

"Because I'm grounded! My mum said I had to-"

"Look, I'm not stupid." Harry seemed irritated, like he should have been making some more progress by now. "She said something that really made you mad. And I talked to her, but she was just blaming you and saying that she never wants to speak to you again. I'm tired of being the middleman for you two, okay? Can you just work this out with her?"

"Honestly, Harry, it's none of your business."

"Actually, it is, considering my two best mates are ignoring each other and were never going to have a decent holiday until I work this out. _You're_ obviously not going to…"

"What do you mean your _two best mates_? _I_ was your best mate before _she_ ever was!"

"Ron, stop being silly. I hate seeing you two like this, and I would never have bothered trying to resolve every argument you have if I didn't care about both of you."

"Oh, cut the crap out, Harry. Just go downstairs and snog my sister, alright?" Ron shuffled him out of the furnace-coloured room and into the doorway. "Oh, and don't forget to tell Hermione I hope she dies." With that, he closed the door firmly and leaned against it. He just needed to be alone for a while to sort some things out. He paused a moment, realizing that there was no movement on the other side of the wall.

"I'm not leaving." Harry Potter's determined voice sounded as firm and stubborn as always.

"Shove off, Harry."

"Do you want me to bring her up here?"

"Leave me alone."

Harry remained there for at least five minutes, trying to talk reason with Ron, but finally he was convinced that none of his persuasion seemed to be helping and he descended the unstable staircase. He was probably off to go comfort Hermione or spend his time doing something productive. He could do whatever he wanted, really, because nobody hated him. Except for Voldemort, but he didn't even count as human, did he?

Ron settled himself back on his bed, feeling depressed and incomplete. As the afternoon wasted away, he heard his family gathering around in the living room for a meal, singing Christmas songs and enjoying themselves without him. Around 5:00, he heard an eruption that sounded like a nuclear holocaust downstairs; Harry had obviously decided to open his Christmas present. Ron doubted that any of them acknowledged his absence, or even cared that he wasn't there to join in the festivities. He was the object of everyone's detestation. Hermione couldn't even look at him without wanting to grind holes into his eye sockets.

Honestly, the only thing Ron had ever tried to do was make her happy; to see that beautiful grin that lit up her face when he made a joke or said something she found entertaining. He was only trying to make her love him half as much as he loved her. He wasn't asking for much, really.

The desperation inside of him soared, clawing at his throat and trying so hard to escape. He wanted to prove himself to her. He wanted to show her that he could treat her right, and he could be whatever she wanted. He stared out his dusty, cobwebby window and tried to think optimistically.

"Things will be different next year," he reassured himself.

**Thank you so much for reading! I will get right on typing up the next chapter. This is just too fun, and I'm intending to stay up all night. :)**

**Denacitarii666**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: To those of you who kept reading: Thank you for sticking around! This chapter took me a while to write, but I really like it. Hope you enjoy! And if you did, write me a two-word review! ( I don't mind if they're anonymous; it's kind of a drag to log in and all that... :)**

**DISCAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING. TRAGICALLY.**

**Chapter 2**

**Christmas Day, 1997**

"What are you doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you staying, or what?"

"I…yes – yes, I'm staying. Ron, we said we'd go with Harry, we said we'd help – "

"I get it. You choose him."

"Ron, no – please – come back! _Come back_!"

The voices echoed inside his head, playing themselves over and over again like a broken record.

He'd almost had Hermione. He had been there for her, just as he promised himself he always would be. He had discarded Lavender, and now Hermione was within his grasp… but then he pulled away. His fear had gotten the best of him.

The events that had taken place between this year and the last were parading in front of him whenever he closed his eyelids, as clear as if he was living them right now.

At Dumbledore's funeral, he had been there to comfort Hermione as she sobbed into his shoulder.

After Moody's death he had done the same, only with a different kind of reassurance. He was _positive_ that she loved him.

At his brother's wedding he had danced with Hermione all day long and into the night, and he was never much of a dancer.

That night he had held her hand to comfort her after the death eaters had suddenly broken up the wedding and all three of them were forced to apparate at Sirius Black's old house, the one that now belonged to Harry.

_Harry_. Ron didn't think that he had ever wanted to strangle a human being more in his entire life.

Sure, he had seen it going on for a while, but to act as though he wasn't there for two weeks while he and Hermione flirted and talked about him behind his back … What did they expect him to do, stick around?

She had chosen Harry over Ron. It was as simple as that. Honestly, who wouldn't? Harry was the chosen one. He defeated the dark lord when he was a baby, and every girl in the Wizarding World would die just to have a chance at going out with him. He had always had the advantage over Ron, and now he was finally learning how to put that to good use. Ron knew it and so did Hermione: He was _nothing_ compared to Harry.

He had left the tent the three of them were staying in while looking for the Dark Lord's horcruxes, and after a heated argument with Harry about this exact topic, and ignoring Hermione's pleads for him to stay, he had disapparated.

His room at Bill and Fleur's cottage was growing lighter; the sun was rising already. That was the third night in a week he had gone without sleep. He couldn't live with himself knowing that he had left his two best friends alone, and now he had no way of finding them no matter how much he wanted to return.

He rubbed his light blue, itchy eyes on the back of his hand, wishing that he had gotten some sleep. It was Christmas already. A light snowfall was sprinkling the crowns of the sharp rocks outside his window, and he was reminded of last year's equally miserable Christmas…

He reached over to turn on his handheld radio, reciting the daily password and tuning into the program his brothers and their friend Lee Jordan had initiated: _Potterwatch_. He had found himself sitting here for hours just listening to their voices and realizing how much he missed seeing everyone at Hogwarts. They often did interviews with the staff at the school, or with members of the Order of the Phoenix, but that wasn't the main reason he listened.

He listened so that he could encourage himself that his mistakes hadn't been so vast that they were not able to be mended. He was always on the edge of his seat now, because at any moment there was the chance that an announcement would come on the radio, and Voldemort would have won.

When he thought about it, Harry and Hermione were so vulnerable, so alone in the world; they could be snatched up by almost anything and the war would be over. They were the only hope that the entire Wizarding World had seen in a long time, and most common people weren't even aware of this.

Ron had tuned out of the radio momentarily, and when he came back to earth he heard Fred and George cracking jokes about the Dark Lord and making fun of a death eater or two.

"I honestly don't understand how he gets up in the morning. If I were to wake up and look in the mirror to spot a face like that, I think I'd _let_ Harry Potter kill me. With _my_ wand. And Merlin save the mortal that ever so unluckily stumbles onto my carcass the next morning…"

Ron couldn't help grinning a bit at this. He hadn't had much humor in his life in the last few weeks… Bill was so busy sorting out all the "undesirable number 1" nonsense at the ministry, and when he returned home late every night, he spent the remainder of his day talking with Fleur in the kitchen. He always seemed tired nowadays, and Ron scowled when he admitted that it was because of Harry: the exact reason for his own misery.

Ron was about to doze off again when he distinctly heard a noise; a voice that wasn't coming from the radio. He quickly scrambled over to turn the receiver up, nonetheless, but all he could hear was more static. The muffled voice continued even after the radio had been switched off completely.

"Remember…remember Ron?" it said. Ron shot up suddenly, banging his head on the windowsill.

"When he broke his wand crashing the car? It was never the same again; he had to get a new one."

That was it. He was imagining, no, hallucinating things in his head. He was hearing Hermione's voice plain as day speaking about him in his second year… he had officially gone loopy.

At the same time, something about it seemed so _real_. He couldn't explain how authentic and intimate the voice had sounded, and he also couldn't account for the muffled tone of her voice as she spoke.

For some, absurd reason he would never understand, he reached into his pocket and withdrew the deluminator Dumbledore had left him. He flipped the device around in his hand once or twice, curiously pushing the button on the top of it as he had done so many times before. It was as if someone was controlling his body for him. There weren't many lights on, but the desk lamp on the other side of the room swiftly went out. He looked out the window. About as suddenly as this light had disappeared, another one had materialized outside, casting a blue, eerie glow on all it could reach.

Somehow, he knew instantly what it was.

Hermione had summoned him, or tried to locate him, and he would have to respond to her call. He would at last get his chance to find her again.

Yes, it was ridiculously absurd, just hearing her voice in his room as he did; how did he know it hadn't just been his imagination? He had been hearing her voice in his head ever since he left!

But no, this was different. It seemed as though the deluminator itself had beckoned him. This had to be on purpose.

He quickly threw everything he could find into a large rucksack, (Wishing desperately that he knew how to perform an excellent undetectable extension spell like Hermione), and without another thought he threw it over his shoulder and hurried outside. Bill wouldn't miss him. If anything he would be happy that Ron had finally decided to return to his friends. Though Ron had to admit that he would miss the scrumptious Christmas dinner Fleur had been boasting about cooking up all week…

As soon as he had walked around the house and seen the quivering blue ball of light suspended in mid-air just as he had left it, he knew he hadn't been dreaming. The funny thing was, it was bouncing around, getting closer to his head, drawing nearer and nearer to him… what was he supposed to do now? Just follow the blasted thing to wherever Harry and Hermione were hidden?

He couldn't help it. He followed the glow like a deranged sleepwalker all the way over to the old shed where Bill and Fleur kept their gardening equipment, and there it stopped. The beam turned straight around and zoomed directly at his chest. A burning hot, scorching feeling overcame the boy, seeming to incinerate every part of his being. The illumination was _inside_ him.

All of a sudden, it was as if a virus had implanted its DNA into his bloodstream. He knew exactly what to do. He withdrew his wand from his jean pocket, (with some effort; the pants were far too small for him) and, compelled by the blissful, fiery feeling inside of him, he disapparated.

With a sudden familiar jerk behind his navel, he appeared on a snowy hillside he didn't recognize. He tried to get his bearings, but if he knew Hermione, she would have chosen the most secreted and clandestine location she could think of to take cover in. He felt like he was close to her. It was an unexplainable kind of emotion, like knowing someone is in a room when all the lights are turned out. It electrified him.

He reached for the deluminator yet again and clicked it. The feeling dissolved as fast as an icicle in boiling water. He had obviously regained his senses. What was he thinking? He couldn't see Hermione even if he was standing right in front of their tent. She had placed protective charms around the entire area, securing that no one would ever stumble onto them or know they were there. This factor, added to Hermione's expertise in her spell-casting guaranteed that he would never see her until she wanted to see him first.

Brilliant.

There was no way he could reach them unless they wanted him to. But couldn't he at least try?

"Hermione?" He hollered, just loud enough to be heard over the howling wind. He shivered inside his itchy, home-knitted sweater, wishing he had brought something warmer.

"Hermione!" He bellowed, this time a little louder. "Harry! Are you there? HARRY!"

Nothing happened. There was no response; no one could hear him. He staggered down the hillside, tripping over a tree root and falling on the hard, cold ice that covered the terrain, all the while yelling for Hermione. She _had_ to be here. He knew she was, even if he couldn't see her.

"HERMIONE!" he yelled one last time, his voice cracking. He needed her. He needed her reassuring smile that made his life worth living for. He needed to stare into her sweet, chocolate brown eyes again, and to hold her close as he had done at the Burrow, to tell her that everything was going to be alright.

A tear rolled down his cheek as he collapsed to the ground, the snow blowing up in his face and pricking it like a thousand tiny needles. He had never felt so powerless in his life.

Hours passed, and Ron remained huddled up on the hillside, waiting…hoping for something to happen. He concluded that if he waited long enough, Harry and Hermione would emerge from the tent and prepare to disapparate, and in order for them to do so they would have to reveal themselves. When they did, he would seize the opportunity and shout out to them, and there was a small possibility that they would see him and allow him to come back. Maybe.

For the millionth time in the last two weeks, he hated himself for leaving. If he had stayed, he would be with Hermione right now. They would be laughing, and maybe exchanging gifts like last year, forgetting about the Dark Lord for a little while, and just enjoying the merriment of the season. He had rehearsed his apology to them so many times he had it memorized. But what if they still didn't take him back?

The sky was growing dark. "Already?" Ron thought to himself. It wasn't exactly what one would call the ideal Christmas, nor the perfect location to be stuck at, though it was certainly memorable. He watched the sun slowly melt down into the foothills until there was nothing left of it but a burst of pink and orange erupting from a snow-tipped mountain peak. If Hermione was here, she would be marveling about how gorgeous it was: the image of the setting sun reflected on the glittering snow. Ron would then pull her into an embrace, telling her that she was far more beautiful than any ruddy old mountain. His mind reeled with the endless possibilities of what he could be doing right now, instead of sitting alone, huddled up on the hillside and freezing his arse off, daydreaming about Hermione.

An hour later, the hillside was completely dark, and stars were beginning to appear in the charcoal-coloured sky. Ron had no choice but to reach into his duffel bag and pull out a large sleeping bag that used to be Bill's; no matter how much he wanted to stay up all night, he would physically crumble to pieces if another ice-cold wind front blew by him. As Ron squirmed into the bag, he couldn't help wondering what Hermione was doing right now. She was probably up late with Harry in the center room, talking and laughing about what they had done that day. While he was on the topic, he also couldn't help wondering how Harry felt, him defeating Ron and all that. He had Hermione now, and Ron really hoped he appreciated her as much as he would have himself.

If Hermione could only see him now, and understand how committed he was to protect her, and how much he needed her, things would be different.

And they would be – just give it another year or so. He wasn't about to give up or anything. Next year, if she wasn't already married to Harry or something, he would win her over. He would be her knight in shining armor…or something like that.

"Did you hear that?" Hermione suddenly shot up, positive she had heard a noise coming from outside. She set aside her book and glanced over at Harry, who was fast asleep on the bunk-bed in the other room. She rolled her eyes, re-opening her book and taking a deep breath.

"It was probably just the wind." She scolded herself. "Stop being so irrational."

**There. Hope you liked it! Sorry, it was a bit depressing. I'm hoping the third chapter will compensate you for all the boring patches you sat through, and we will all recieve our fair share of fluff. Unless you hate that kind of stuff.**

**Farewell. Thanks for reading!**

**denacitarii666**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Merry belated Christmas, all! Sorry it took so long to get this one up. It's a little long, but I hope you'll enjoy it! :)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own. If I did, I would be a billionare.**

**Chapter 3**

**Christmas Day, 1998**

"Dammit, George, I said pass the soup! Can you even hear me?" Bill Weasley commanded, raising his voice. George seemed to be lost in some sort of an alternate reality far, far away, but no one really expected anything more out of him. His blank face snapped back to life transiently and he scooted the large soup bowl about an inch closer to Bill's outstretched hand. "Sure," he muttered under his breath.

Percy abruptly got up from the table, crossed the room and walked out the back door, leaving the family in a state of stony silence. Molly Weasley gave George a deep look of sympathy, dabbing her eyes with the edge of her napkin. The death had definitely been the hardest on him; losing his twin brother was the equivalent of carving out half of his heart out and tossing it in the bin. About 5,000 galleons worth of Weasley's Wizard Weezes products lay untouched in the basement downstairs, and this Christmas he was the worst he had been yet; absorbed in the memories of him and Fred together a year ago.

Ron gazed helplessly at his brother from across the dinner table, exchanging a sorrowful look with the girl seated next to him. Yes, she was back. She, Ron and Harry were now best mates again, after a very unfortunate string of events which included the deaths of Fred, the Lupins, Moody, Severus Snape and so many hundreds of others lost in the war. So much had happened since last year… Ron had just finished an hour-long conversation with Harry in his room deliberating this very subject. Well, not entirely. They had also discussed Ron's course of action for the rest of the evening; a strictly confidential and highly essential libretto that had to be recited word for word on the promise of certain demise if anything went wrong. It was all set up, and everything was going to flow perfectly… just so long as nothing terrible happened.

Harry spilled gravy all over the table in a desperate attempt to help Ginny with the salad, which unofficially ended the meal. Even George couldn't help but laugh at the horrified look on his mother's face when she realized her entire dinner table was sopping in warm gravy. After apologizing profusely about 36 times, Harry was forced out of the dining room and Mrs. Weasley grabbed her wand to clean the mess up.

Ron hadn't been planning on this. Hermione threw him a casual grin before heading upstairs to Ginny's room to do God knows what, leaving Ron in the sitting room to think. Actually, he was too nervous to think. All he could really do was sit on the couch and _rehearse_. Doubt began engulfing his mind like a tidal wave, seeping in with steady increments. What if he wasn't ready for this? What could he possibly respond with if she said no? Was he even making the right choice?

He felt like he should have been consulting a guidance counselor before making a colossal decision like this, but then again, wasn't that what Harry was for?

He found himself beating his head against the wall, wishing to be rid of these awful nerves and unreasonable qualms commanding his body. He began pacing back and forth across the room, reciting the lines over and over again in his head, every now and then pulling out the box as though he were about to present it to an invisible stranger. Then he would get up off of his knee and go through the whole thing again.

Suddenly, a terrible thought popped into his head: He hadn't yet chosen the location! Where in his house could he possibly be when he went through with this? Background was everything. He had to choose a scene that was romantic and diplomatic, and –

His train of thought was cut off quite rudely as Bill Weasley burst into the isolated room, dragging Fleur by the hand and looking ecstatic about something.

"Oi, you mind knocking before you barge in like that?"

"Ron, get out of here. We need to talk." He was motioning to Fleur who was, for some reason, overflowing with delight.

"But I need to – I have to stay." Once Ron thought about it, he couldn't picture himself doing it in any place other than here. It was almost the ideal atmosphere, except for the fact that nowhere in the Burrow could remain undisturbed for less than five minutes…

"It can't be that important."

"But it is! You can't just go pushing me out of my own house; you already have yours!"

"Out, Ron." Bill's face looked stern. Ron rolled his eyes, and then trudged solemnly out of the sitting room. Where else was he supposed to do it, his room? He shuddered when the thought of him proposing to Hermione in his Chudley Cannons room crossed his mind. That wouldn't be romantic at all, and Hermione might refuse him simply because of his lack of judgment… this was so frustrating.

"Bloody Hell," He muttered as he saw a familiar, bushy brown head emerge from the top of the staircase. He had to act now.

"Hermione," he greeted her as she met him at the bottom of the stairs. She looked like she had just been laughing about something.

"Oh, hello Ron," She spoke, stifling a giggle. She was reminding him of Pavarti and Lavender at the Yule Ball or something. He had to get her in the right mood for this; she had to take him completely seriously.

"Um, well… do you think – will you go for a walk with me?" He hadn't even been considering this option before, but yes, that would be the perfect spot!

"Isn't it a little chilly?"

"Yeah, but its warming up," he lied. "And you can use my coat." There. If anything was ever going to help him pull this off, it was chivalry.

"Alright," She sighed, sounding as though she was participating only to make Ron happy. He peeled off his brown jacket and helped her into it, and then the two of them stepped out into the frosty night air. Ron could see his breath vaporized in front of him. Hermione pulled the jacket closer around her.

"Sorry," he apologized, thinking instantly that this had not been the best plan after all. "I just needed to talk to you, and there's nowhere in the entire bloody house we can go to be alone…"

"No, its fine, Ron," She smiled. "Honestly, I miss talking with you. You know, like we used to."

"Actually we mostly argued," He replied truthfully. Hermione smiled and lifted her head up to the sky. It was snowing, again. Everything was going perfectly so far; if he could only keep it up for another 30 minutes… He was distracted momentarily by the angelic glow on her face as she stared up at the trees glittering with millions of icicles reflecting off of the moonlight. She looked so beautiful that the next string of words he was about to speak were forever cast into the back of his throat. Try as he might, he couldn't focus on anything else.

"Er… lovely day, isn't it?" He stuttered awkwardly, cursing himself for opening his mouth. She nodded and glanced up at the moon again.

"It's perfect; it's like something out of a story book." She seemed to be adjusting to the temperature, or at least overlooking it.

They were walking in the general direction of the garden. As Ron glanced around at the trellises

obscured in weeds as well as the remains of the flowerbeds and lines of pumpkins that had thrived in the spring, he couldn't help but remember how much time he and Hermione had spent in this very place over the years. He thought of all they had been through together: from the incident where he and Harry had saved her from the troll in the girls bathroom eight years ago to the event just last year where the war had jeopardized the safety of every student at Hogwarts, and Voldemort had finally been destroyed for good… last year he had been positive Hermione would never forgive him for leaving. Now, however, things were different.

"Hermione," he began, his nerves coming back in full swing again. "L-look, I… I'm sorry we didn't talk more this year, and if we ruin – if _I_ ruin this all you can just…walk away, alright?" He was tripping over his tongue like it was made out of lead. Despite the current temperature outside he could feel his neck burning dependably just like it had never failed to do his whole life whenever he was making a fool out of himself.

"What are you talking about, Ron?" Hermione looked slightly amused, and faintly worried at the same time.

"I just think that-"

Oh no.

He reached for the box in his pocket just to remind himself his original intent in bringing her out here, and then realized something terrible. Hermione was wearing his coat.

Consequently, the ring was in _her_ pocket.

No matter, there was no need to agonize over the situation; all he needed to do was find a way to have her bump into it. It would be romantic. She would pull out the box and gasp in astonishment, and then he would get down on one knee and propose to her. It was as simple as that, and perfectly feasible.

"What were you saying, Ron?" She asked politely.

"I was just saying that I think…er… Its cold out here, isn't it? Sure wish I'd brought some mittens." He dug his hands into his jean pockets, hoping she would do the same. All he received from her was an arched eyebrow accompanied by a peculiar stare.

"Er, yes. It's snowing Ron. Do you want your jacket back?"

"No! No, no. No, I'm just fine. I'll just… put my hands in my pockets. It's not a bad idea." He dug them deeper into his jeans, receiving an even stranger gaze from Hermione.

"Ron, are you alright?"

"Brilliant! I'm just fine. Great! Spectacular." He looked around awkwardly, hoping she would take a hint eventually. For someone as clever as her, she was sure taking a while to catch on. "Say, I didn't happen to leave anything in those pockets, did I?" She finally reached her hand into the brown jacket and felt around.

"No…why?"

"Are you sure? Because I'm positive I must have…"

"Ron, there's nothing in the pockets." She turned them inside out so that he could see them with his own eyes: empty. "Did you lose some money or something? I could help look-"

"No. It's fine. I'll find it." Horror suddenly overwhelmed him. He began searching around in his jeans, his back pockets and even in his shoe, finally concluding that he had dropped it somewhere.

"Ron, what's going on?" A bewildered Hermione asked, not knowing what to think and looking worried at Ron's panic.

"I can't…exactly…explain…" He muttered from the ground, scavenging around in the newly fallen snow.

"What do you mean you can't explain? I'm your best friend, you can tell me anything."

"No, really. You wouldn't understand…" As soon as he had spoken he realized he had picked the wrong word choice.

"What part _wouldn't _I understand?" She looked furious, and Ron's face fell as soon as he glanced at her. "I thought we weren't keeping secrets!"

He knew it had been too good to be true.

"Wait, that's not what I meant. I just have to _find_ something."

"Find what? Why won't you tell me anything?" She stared at him as he rummaged around in the snow, not really knowing what to think. "You've been so secretive recently, you and Harry, and I'm not really sure I can trust you anymore." He got up from the ground to face her, and he spotted a tear sparkling in her eye.

"Look, Hermione, I'm not trying to be mysterious or anything… I just really think we should get back to the Burrow." He remembered that there was a small possibility he could have left it in the sitting room.

"Fine," she replied, wiping her eyes with his brown jacket.

"No, Hermione, _please_ don't cry. I'm just…such a git…"

"I know what this is about," she stated erratically, catching Ron off guard.

"You do?" He questioned. He didn't think he had made himself _that_ obvious…

"Yes," she wiped a tear from her cheek, and Ron felt like crying himself. "I've seen you and Harry talking, and you stop whenever I walk in the room. You two are planning something – you're running away. And you're leaving Ginny and me here." Ron's mouth fell open. Where on earth did she get that assumption from?

"I know there are a lot of death eaters still out there," she continued, "And that even though Voldemort's gone people are still scared that someone else might try to take the power he had… You two never seem at home here. You're both restless; it's like you can't stay in one place more than a week. You're not happy! Why wouldn't you want to leave?" Ron was a little taken aback by this accusation. He had been a little restless, but that was only because he was fretting about the commitment he was about to make with Hermione. If anything, he was just plain scared.

"Listen, I'm not planning on leaving. _Really_. It was something entirely different…" He took a step closer to her, wiping away a tear from her cheek and feeling nothing but guilt and shame inside. "Let's just get back. I have something I need to…give you." Hermione remained rooted on the spot, showing no sign of movement.

"No," she said firmly. "You go on. I'll just stay out here for a while."

"Hermione, it's _freezing_ out here! Just come back with me…"

"That didn't seem to bother _you_ a minute ago. I have to think. Just go." Ron interpreted the harsh dismissal as a personal assault on his character and turned away, throwing her a dejected look she didn't even notice. He had to get back to the Burrow and find the ring as soon as possible; maybe if he left her alone for a moment her mood would improve… It was absolute torture to look back at her and see her shivering, tears pouring down her face – did she honestly believe that he and Harry were preparing to run away? Well he was 18, and physically he could leave to go chase death eaters for the rest of his life, but he would never willingly choose to leave her, Ever. He took a step away from her, every part of him feeling miserable.

"Hermione, honestly, I'll be back in five minutes…"

"Just _go_," she repeated. Ron wavered for a moment, looking at her and remembering last Christmas how he would have given anything to be with her, even if she was furious with him. He couldn't leave. It wasn't right. He turned to look at his house, only a few meters away, wondering if it was even worth it to go back and find the ring.

Oh forget it. Since when had Ronald Bilius Weasley ever done anything the traditional way?

He turned and walked back over to her, standing in front of her and mustering all the courage he could find. For some reason, it was easier to face her than it was earlier. He took a frozen finger and raised her chin up so that she could look in his face.

"I'm not leaving. I'm never leaving you, okay? And I really did want to tell you, I was just waiting for the right time… but I guess now's just as good of a time as any…"

"The right time for what?" Ron glanced around. He was in their wilting garden, in plain view of anyone who wanted to look out the window; the snow was blustering up in their faces and making their ears go numb. It wasn't the perfect location he would have picked, but if he tried to improve on it he knew he would mess everything up. His mind was blank. He couldn't remember any part of the script he was supposed to recite to her, so he figured he would just say the first thing that came to mind. It was more heartfelt that way anyways, right?

"Hermione," he breathed, stepping a little closer to her so he could shield her from the cold winds blowing all around them. "We've been best friends for what, eight years now? And I've made you cry so many times I can't live with myself…" Hermione smiled at this, and, encouraged, he reached out for her cold hand. "And I'm sorry I was such a prat, especially in fourth year, but that was when I realized how much I liked you, and I would have gladly beaten up Krum to take you to the Yule Ball." She laughed, and he tried to continue, struggling for the right words to use. He didn't know where this was coming from; all he knew was that it didn't have to be perfect anymore.

"Fifth year, well, I should have just appreciated you more. I would have been expelled for my grades if it hadn't been for you." He smiled himself, taking her other hand. The tension had surprisingly melted away. This felt _natural_. "And I can't even tell you how sorry I am that I went out with Lavender two years ago. It was one of the biggest mistakes of my life, but you do know, or at least you should, that I only snogged her to make you jealous. Of course, it only made you hate me more, but I didn't know that…" He took another deep breath, still unsure of where he was going with this. Maybe somehow it would all just fall into place like magic…

"And last year, I hated myself for leaving you. I still do. But you forgave me, even when I can't forgive myself. You're so incredible, Hermione," He saw tears swimming in her eyes once more. Afraid that he might start crying himself, he pressed on.

"You're the most wonderful girl I've met in my life, and if we weren't friends now, I don't think I'd have anything to live for." It was now that he decided to take action, ring or no ring. He knelt on one knee in the snow and looked up into her beautiful, brown eyes that were streaming tears now.

"I lost the ring somewhere in the house because I'm an idiot, but can we just pretend its right here?" He held out a hand that could be cupping a black, velvet box and she laughed again through her tears.

"Hermione Jean Granger," he spoke, hoping his voice wouldn't crack. "I love you more than anything in this world, and I can't imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone else. Would – will you marry me?" He had never abandoned eye contact with her, and as soon as he had spoken, he saw her face break out into a beautiful, genuine Hermione smile. It was the smile he had been dreaming about for the past four years of his life, the smile that gave him the strength to carry on, despite all the quarrels and hardships they faced together.

"Yes, Ron, _yes_ I'll marry you!" She grinned excitedly. She had never looked so happy in her entire life. Ron got up to his feet, smiling widely, and pulled her into an embrace, holding her close to him as he had been wanting to for so many years now…. He couldn't even express the joy that was simmering inside of him. Hermione had accepted him and all his faults, agreeing to marry him after all that they had been through together.

"I bet the ring is just beautiful, Ron," she whispered in his ear, putting her head on his chest and shutting her eyes. He couldn't see her face but he could still tell she was beaming.

"Believe me," he replied warmly. "You're far more beautiful than any ruddy old ring." And with that, he lifted her chin up to his face once more and kissed her, letting this make up for all the years they had been apart. He needed her like he had never needed anything before, and he pulled her even closer to him, wrapping his hands around her waist. He finally pulled away after what seemed like an eternity, and just held her tight in his arms again.

After a long moment of silence, in which Ron listened to the beat of her heart on his chest, she asked him quietly, "Does Harry know?"

"Yeah," he replied, stroking the outline of her face. "Just him."

"And Ginny," Hermione added, but before he could ask questions, she barricaded him again with her sweet lips.

* * *

"Alright, it should be in the sitting room," Ron mumbled as he led Hermione along through the back door. "I'm positive I left it there."

"Ron, it doesn't even matter. I already said yes."

"I know, but it's for effect. I _have_ to get you a ring. Otherwise it would just be…wrong." He left Hermione in the kitchen with an abrupt kiss and burst into the small room, ramming right into a snogging Bill and Fleur and rolling his eyes. "It can't be _that_ important," he said in an excellent imitation of his brother's voice as Bill and Fleur broke apart, looking irritated.

"Ron, you can't just come barging in…" Bill began, but Ron was in too excellent of a mood to spend time wrangling this out with Bill.

"Have either of you seen a small, black box in here? I think I left something…"

"Why?"

"Oh, never mind," he dismissed, digging out his wand from his jean pocket. "Accio ring!"

Fleur gasped audibly as the box came flying out of a crease in the sofa and into Ron's extended hand.

"What... why would you-" Bill stuttered, an incredulous look on his face. "You're proposing to her?"

"Actually," Ron corrected, "I've already done it." It wasn't exactly how he had planned to announce this to his family, but it would do; he was too enthusiastic to contain himself.

"Wizout ze ring?"Fleur inquired, looking disgusted. Ron ignored her.

"I'm judging by your face that she said yes," Bill reasoned, smiling at his brother. "That and the fact that you're still alive caused me to assume…" He patted Ron on the back and voiced an encouraging, "Well done, mate. I'm happy for you." Ron smiled as well, remembering why Bill had always been his favorite brother.  
"Thanks." He took the box and strolled back into the kitchen, where he pulled out a chair next to Hermione. He hadn't even noticed that Ginny was at the table as well, or that Harry was leaning casually against the wall near the doorway.

He opened the box for Hermione, and she shrieked with happiness, throwing her arms around his neck.

"It's perfect!" She was referring to the glittering diamond ring he had just uncovered, surrounded by seven, tiny sapphires. He slipped it onto her left hand, smiling like the sun.

Someone on the other side of the table cleared her throat curtly, and Ron snapped back to reality.

"What did I tell you Hermione? I knew he would do it tonight!"

"I know, Ginny," Hermione sighed, like she had heard this from Ron's sister one too many times. She glanced at Ron, who was looking suspicious.

"Harry, did you tell her?" He addressed to his best friend, who pulled up a chair at the table as well.

"It doesn't even take brains to figure it out," she responded all-knowingly. "I've been telling Hermione you'd do it for two months now, and the way that you were staring at her over dinner…"

"Shut up!" Ron laughed, throwing the velvet box at his sister, who caught it expertly in her left hand.

"Hang on," Hermione stopped him, and Ron thought he was about to be reprimanded over throwing things in the house, (She was going to make a great mother someday). But instead, she looked at the redheaded witch with a puzzled expression on her face.

"What's that on your finger, Ginny?"

**A/N: I really hope you liked it! It wasn't as perfect as I had wanted it to be, and it moves a little fast, but I'm satisfied with the ending. Which is good. Feel free to drop me some feedback!**

**Yours truly,**

**Denacitarii666**


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